


Jumping Into It

by Anonymous



Series: Tommy with a jolteon, what will he do? [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adopted Children, Adoption, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Pokemon, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Tommyinnit HAS a moth and it's name IS Clementine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:34:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29259033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Excerpt:“Excuse me!” The kid yells, dashing around Phil and through the doorway. The social worker is quick, though, and has a hand balled in the back of his shirt before he’s even managed to take a few steps into the hallway. He turns around slowly, eyes wide. “Uh oh.”“Tommy!” The social worker seethes, pulling the boy into her office. “Apologize to this man right now.”“I apologize,” Tommy says, unapologetic. Phil smiles.In other words, Philza adopts a child. Again. Also, pokemon are a thing.
Relationships: Look it's SBI alright I'm not tagging every variation of that, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: Tommy with a jolteon, what will he do? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148612
Comments: 10
Kudos: 229
Collections: Anonymous





	Jumping Into It

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note, this is about their CHARACTERS in the DSMP. It's not RPF. I know the tags beg to differ, but those are the suggested tags and I'm not in the business of taking more time than I need to I things like that.

Phil is looking to adopt. Again. 

His boys are more than fine with it, he knows. Wilbur has been “subtly” dropping hints for a while now that he’d love to be a big brother. Techno is… well, Techno. He says he doesn’t really care. He got attached to Wil pretty quickly, though, so Phil’s just going to hope for the best, with him. He himself was adopted, after all, so hopefully he’ll be able to empathize with their newest addition. 

Their region has… a small problem, with orphans. Namely, that there are a _lot_ of them. Runaways tend to flock here, for whatever reason— probably because it’s home to so many of the world’s most impressive trainers. Phil included, if he does say so himself. He _is_ a gym leader, after all. And because of that, it’s pretty easy for him to adopt a kid without having to go through the same level of background checks that most prospective parents have to go through. Now, is that pretty shady on the adoptive agency’s part? Yes. Is it helpful to him, a simple man who just doesn’t want to do any paperwork? Also yes. 

Case and point: It’s been fifteen minutes since he arrived and the lovely woman showing him around only asked to see his ID before happily leading him into the main body of the facility. It’s called a “Child Care Home” and is supposed to be more refined than the orphanages of half a century ago. According to his guide, anyway. Phil thinks it’s just a fancy orphanage. Those weren’t really supposed to be a thing, anymore — bad for a child’s development, apparently — but the region’s little orphan problem has made things complicated. At least, that’s what he’s heard. 

“-And out here is our play area for the older kids.” The social worker says, still smiling. Phil wishes he remembered her name. “But I’m assuming you’re interested in one of our younger children? We don’t take care of babies here, they’re priority cases for the foster care system, but—”

“I’m hoping to adopt an older kid, actually.” Phil cuts in, politely. The social worker blinks. 

“Oh, really? That’s great news!” She says happily. “It’s harder for them to find families willing to take them in, but I’m sure you knew that.” He did. That’s the whole reason he’s adopting an older kid. Well, that and he’s just not very good with babies. “Let’s head to my office so we can look at some case files. What age range are you looking at, specifically?” 

“Ah. Maybe eight? Nine? Not a teenager, I don’t think.” He says slowly, following her. The walls are bright, all red and white. “Not that I have anything against teenagers, I’ve just got two at home and they’re a handful as it is.” 

“Of course, I completely understand.” The social worker pauses outside a thick wooden door, reaching down into her pocket to grab something. She fishes around for a moment before looking down, face falling into a concerned frown. She checks her other pocket, and pales. “Uh oh.” 

“Is everything alright?” Phil asks. She smiles at him, though it’s nervous expression now.

“Yes, everything’s fine. It’s just, I like to keep this door locked in case any of our problem children decide to, well, cause problems. And—”

“The key’s missing?”

“Yes.” She sighs, eyeing the door handle warily. She reaches out and grabs the it, turning it without any resistance. “Right, okay. Sir?” She turns and smiles again, strained. “We have one particular child here who is… difficult to handle. He likes to break into my office. I promise you that he is not representative of our facility, though, or any of the other children living here.”

“...Okay?” Phil says. The social worker nods and turns, hand hesitating on the door handle. 

“Tommy,” She says, loud enough to be heard through the door. “If you’re in here, I want you to stand next to my desk. We have a parent here, today, he’s with me right now. Think about that before you do anything.” And with that, she opens the door. 

It could have been worse. There are manilla folders scattered across the ground, contents — from what Phil can see — mostly in tact. There are several file cabinets on the wall, one of which is thrown open. And there are the keys, lying on the floor beside it. They're mostly covered by one the folders, which is open and displaying the name and face of a child Phil vaguely recognizes from the playground outside. Ignoring the general mess, though, the office is empty. The social worker walks in further, Phil following behind. She kneels down to pick up one of the folders, muttering under her breath, when something shoot out from behind the door and slams directly into Phil. 

“Jesus fuck!” He exclaims, stumbling back. Two wide blue eyes look up at him beneath a mess of bright blond hair. The kid’s face switchs from shock to annoyance in a heartbeat. 

“Excuse me!” He yells, dashing around Phil and through the doorway. The social worker is quick, though, and has a hand balled in the back of his shirt before he’s even managed to take a few steps into the hallway. He turns around slowly, eyes wide. “Uh oh.” 

“Tommy!” The social worker seethes, pulling the boy into her office. “Apologize to this man right now.” 

“I apologize,” Tommy says, unapologetic. Phil smiles. 

“It’s fine, mate.” He replies dismissively. “I barely felt it.” Tommy looks offended at that. The social worker quickly cuts in before the boy can respond. 

“Thank you for being so understanding, sir.” She says. Her hair has come slightly undone from its previously perfect bun, falling around her face. She looks down at Tommy, scowling. He looks back up at her, the picture of innocence. “Sit, Tommy.” She orders. “Phil, you can feel free to sit too, if you’d like. I’m going to step out into the hall for a moment, just to call security.” 

She leaves, pulling her phone out as she goes. Tommy throws himself into one of the two chairs positioned directly in front of her desk. Phil waits a moment before lowering himself into the seat beside him. Just outside the doorway, the social worker mutters into her phone. Phil takes the opportunity to examine the little boy next to him.

He looks… young. Phil has always been terrible at guessing people’s ages, but he’d have to say the boy is maybe eight or nine, give or take. Scrawny as all hell. Seriously, his limbs are like _toothpicks_. He’s also incredibly banged up, covered in little scratches and decked out in pokemon-themed bandaids. One is across the bridge of his nose, another on his elbow. At least three spaced out upon his legs -- one for each knee and another on his ankle. His hair is messy, to say the least. Cut just short enough so that it doesn’t fall into his eyes, which are fiery despite their bright blue. His swings his legs, the toes of his dirty sneakers just barely brushing against the floor. 

“You name is Tommy, right?” Phil asks, breaking into the silence between them. The boy glances at him, suspicious.

“Yeah,” He replies. “What’s your name?”

“Phil,” Phil says. Tommy nods. “How long have you been here for, Tommy?” 

“Uh— I d’know. I was with a family before I came here.” He says slowly. “Not _my_ family, though.” 

“A foster family, you mean?” Phil supplies. The boy nods. Right, okay. Phil decides to save any other personal questions for the social worker. He glances over the boy, eyes catching on the bandaids again. He smiles. “Do you like pokemon, Tommy?” 

“I really like charizard,” Tommy replies, which Phil can assume means _yes_. “Do you know what a charizard is? They’re _massive_.” 

Phil laughs. “Yes, Tommy, I know what a charizard is.”

“Do you have any pokemon?” Tommy asks excitedly. 

“Well…” Phil glances around performatively, almost conspiratorial. Then he leans forward. The boy leans forward, too, eyes wide. Phil sticks a hand into his coat and pulls out a pokeball, revealing just enough of to make it clear what exactly he’s holding. Tommy’s eyes go frome wide to _huge_ , positively shining. Phil bites back a laugh. “I _am_ a gym trainer, so I’ve got to have a few.” 

“What?” Tommy yells. He leans back fast enough to almost knock the chair over and balances precariously, for a moment, on just two of its legs. Phil reaches out quickly and pulls it back down, chuckling. “You are not a _gym trainer_. That’s a lie.”

“In the town just neighboring this one, yeah, I am.” Phil explains, still laughing slightly. He hears the social worker walk back into the room. “The flying-type gym.” 

“No way!” Tommy yells, even louder than before. 

“Volume, Tommy.” The social worker says firmly, walking around to sit behind her desk. “And sit properly, or you’re going to fall. Sir, I am so sorry about him. Like I said, he isn’t representative of our facility as a whole.” Her eyes shoot back to Tommy. “Security is on its way, so sit down and be _quiet_.” 

“Actually,” The words fall from Phil before his brain can catch up to what exactly he’s saying. “That’s alright. I don’t mind him.” Alright, this is definitely happening. “Could you grab his case file?” Of course he’d get insta-attatched to the first child he speaks to. As if to solidify the decision he’s made, Tommy looks up at him with equal parts shock and suspicion. So _suspicious_ , for a little boy. It’d be cute, if it didn’t make Phil wonder what exactly caused it. 

“Are— are you sure?” The social worker stammers, eyes flicking between Phil and Tommy. “He’s not exactly easy to deal with, sir, as you’ve seen.”

“Neither are my boys at home,” Phil replies, smiling serenely. “The chaotic ones are really the most fun, if you know how to handle them.” And boy has he _learned_ how to handle them. It was sort of a trial by fire, but he managed. “The file, please.”

“I… right, if you insist.” The social worker stands up and walks over to the file cabinets, pausing in front of the one that’s open and spilling folders. She turns towards Tommy. They stare at each other for a long moment, her scowling, him grinning. “Give it to me, Tommy.” She orders. 

“I don’t have it.”

“We don’t tell lies in this building, Tommy.”

“I’m not!”

“What’s that under your shirt?” She gestures to his shirt. Phil glances down, and— yeah. Now that he’s looking for it, he can see a very large, rectangular shape covering nearly all of his torso. Tommy throws his hands over his chest.

“Nothing!” 

Phil laughs. Again, both the social worker and the boy look at him like he’s lost it. He chokes down the rest of his laughter and looks at Tommy, still smiling. “Can I see your file please, Tommy? Just for a minute, if you don’t mind.” He holds out a hand. The boy looks at it. Looks at him. And then, slowly, pulls the file out from under his shirt and drops it into Phil’s waiting hand. “Thank you.” He says.

“S’fine.” The boy mutters. The social worker glances between the two of them before lowering herself back into her chair. 

“Alright, well. You can read through that quickly, then we can discuss… him.” 

“Will do,” Phil replies, and he does.

He flips the file open and is immediately greeted with a picture of Tommy’s face. The boy scowls at the camera. Above his face is his name, printed in all capital letters: “Thomas Innit.” He flips to the next page. His name is printed again, and beneath that is his age— eight. Below _that_ is his age at the time of “enrollment” into the facility— seven. Only been a year, then. Beside that are two words, which Phil can only assume are meant to explain the reason for his enrollment: _Abusive Household_. His stomach falls, slightly, and he quickly scans the rest of the page. It’s mostly things he doesn’t really need to know, some medical facts like his bloodtype and chronic conditions (there are none). He moves onto the next page, which lists the amount of foster families he’s been placed into. Only one, which he stayed at for two months. He glances up at the social worker.

“His previous foster family didn’t work out?” He asks. She sighs. 

“They had trouble, with him. He attempted to run away.” She fixes her eyes on Tommy. “ _Twice_. It’s a problem we’ve been working on.” Tommy crosses his arms and glares at the ground.

“They were _mean_.” 

“Well, the point is, it didn’t work out, no.” The social worker says firmly. “He hasn’t been put back into the foster system since.”

“...Right.” Phil says. “And is there anything not listed in the case file that I should know about? Details on his birth family, maybe?” 

“Oh, of course.” The social worker says. She glances at Tommy. “Go to the corner for moment. We need to have an _adult discussion_.” Tommy frowns again but does as is asked of him, jumping off the chair a little recklessly and marching over to the corner. 

“Right, okay.” The social worker sighs. “So… we don’t have a lot of details on what exactly his home life was like before he was removed from the household. He was kept at another facility before this one, and they unfortunately failed to properly document much of anything in regards to his familial history. All we know is that it was a physically and verbally abusive household. CPS was called following several runaway attempts by Tommy, when a neighbor finally became concerned enough to take action. He was placed in a child care facility shortly after.” She lowers her voice and leans across the desk. “His family didn’t exactly fight for custody. And that’s everything we have.” She leans back. Phil runs a hand through his hair, glancing back at Tommy. 

“That’s fucked.” He says bluntly. If the social worker is taken aback by his language, it doesn’t show. 

“It’s affected his behavior severely. His last foster family reported that he was difficult to bond with for two reasons: He was rude and snappy, while simultaneously jumpy and paranoid.” She explains, like it’s something to be annoyed about. Like a child should get over his trauma to make him easier to love. “I do want to warn you like that he likes to cause trouble. Attention-seeking behavior. If you don’t want to adopt him I completely understand.”

He stares at her. 

“I’m adopting him.” He says, firm. He hears a stangled little gasp behind him. 

“I… if you insist. I’ll get the paperwork.” The social worker says. She reaches below her desk and grabs a form. “You’re sure?”

“Of course.” He’s never been more sure of anything in his life. 

He’s quick to fill out the papers she hands him. Initial here, signature there. At some point during the process she calls for a co-worker to take him to his room, pack up the few belongings he has. Phil mostly ignores the tentative warnings she refuses to stop offering, making note only of what he needs to remember for Tommy’s sake. He likes to steal, he makes a habit of running away, if he’s missing make sure to call this number first—

“Why this number?” Phil asks as she writes it on the copy of the adoption papers _he’ll_ be keeping. 

“He works a volunteer here. Sam. He’s good at handling Tommy’s more _difficult_ behaviors.” She clicks her pen and straightens up. “Tommy likes him and has a habit of running to his place of work. If he runs away, it’s a good place to start.” 

Right, then. Phil takes the papers and shoves them into his coat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  
  


He’s standing by his car by the time Tommy is led out of the building, backpack slung over his little shoulders. The social worker follows behind him. He seems more nervous than he did before, eyes flicking between Phil, Phil’s car, and the ground.

“All packed up?” Phil asks, grinning. Tommy nods. His own smile is sharp as a doublade, despite the obvious nerves dancing across his face. He fidgets with the strap of his bag. 

“Yeah, I am.” He says quietly. 

“Hop in, then.” Phil says. “And thanks, miss, for the help.” 

“Of course,” The social worker replies. And then, quieter, “Good _luck_. You’ll need it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments n shit appreciated. Next chapter sometime soon, before next Sunday at least.


End file.
